Standard
by librophile
Summary: Sherlock catches John off guard with a difficult question. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard**

"John..."

John looked up from where he was attempting to free the couch from Sherlock's latest experiment – namely, army-wrapping the couch tightly in a sheet. While he was glad that this time it hadn't involved combustible chemicals or Plaster of Paris, he did wish Sherlock did things a bit less... thoroughly. "What?"

"Why don't you get along with your sister?"

John whipped about so he could stare at Sherlock, who was leaning in the doorway eyeing him curiously. "Ah, why do you ask that, exactly?"

"It just seems interesting that you and your sister – though I know how annoying a brother can be – don't get along with each other. Is she why you're so – _vehement_ about your moral status?" Sherlock was carefully avoiding John's eyes as he spoke, instead opting to tug at the band of his (fourth this week) wristwatch.

John sighed, pausing in his work. "Partially, yeah, a good explanation, that." He gave the sheet a particularly violent yank. _Did he use a stapler?!_

Sherlock wasn't buying it. "But that's not all."

John looked up. Normally he would expect a deprecating expression on Sherlock's face, as a mask for whatever untraceable thoughts he chose to dwell on, but Sherlock had looked away from his watch and was now looking back at John with a genuinely puzzled expression on his face. John hesitated for a second, then nodded to himself.

"Just because she's my sister – " John tugged furiously at the sheet in an attempt to unwind it from the couch – "doesn't mean I necessarily agree with her choices." Another hard tug and the sheet came free. John let out a whoosh of air and looked up at Sherlock. "Sound familiar?" he added pointedly.

"Yes... Actually, it does, somewhat, doesn't it?" the resident genius replied thoughtfully, an unreadable expression on his face.

John pinwheeled the sheet into a ball and stood up. "Right, then, I'll just go lock this in the laundry room before Mrs. Hudson gets back."

Sherlock just flopped down on the newly cleared couch and didn't reply. John sighed resignedly, then smiled wryly and retreated toward the stairs.

Sherlock looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, then at his phone in the far corner of the room as it rang with a text alert from his brother.

Maybe this time he'd call back.


	2. Chapter 2

It was easy to say, looking at John Watson, that he had been an only child. Completely independent, unreliant on anyone, and completely _against_ dependency in any form (though he didn't object anymore to Sherlock's brand of it, for some odd reason the Yard had yet to define). If asked about his parents, you would likely say without batting an eye, "Dead," or "Estranged."

On the latter point, you would be right. But the former was a completely different matter.

Sherlock was on his way home, wearing his typical purple shirt and scarf paired with a scowl to match the storm clouds literally gathering over his head in preparation for a downpour. He had been called on a case that morning and had instantly called John, only to remember his flatmate wasn't there and wouldn't be for two days. Some conference or something like that – he hadn't been listening, and, honestly, wished he'd been paying attention. At least he'd know where he was.

The day had only gotten worse from there.

Sherlock's scowl grew even darker and he kicked uncharacteristically at a stone on the street. Not only had John not been there to fend off Anderson and Donovan (meaning Lestrade had been forced to intervene), verify his theory on the victim's demise, or help him chase down the criminal, all of which had cost him forty precious minutes, but without John on his tail Sherlock had also forgotten his wallet and so was forced to walk home instead of taking a cab.

His sharp eyes caught a movement and he glanced up, his irritation abating slightly at the slight destraction. His eyes lit on a slightly weaving figure just approaching him.

_Female, not straight by a long shot, formerly married, spent the day traveling, changed her mind at the last minute and headed for a bar instead, drunk nearly senseless_. Sherlock wouldn't have given the woman more than a passing glance except for the nagging feeling that he should know her, so he kept his analytical gaze focused on her as he approached. The woman sat abruptly on the curb and by her posture had no intention of moving anytime soon.

He caught a glance of her face and drew a blank for a moment. Then it clicked. _Of course_...

"Harriet Watson, what are you doing in London?" he demanded, glaring at her. In reality, he was too intrigued by this second (un-supervised) meeting with John's estranged sister to be irritated, but he was also genuinely curious.

"Harry, not Harriet," she groaned, putting her face in her knees. _Identity confirmed_. Now that Sherlock looked at her more closely, he could see that, behind her short cut brown hair and baggy men's clothing, she actually had the potential of being what people called 'attractive.' With the harsh lines carved into her expression by habit, the obvious addiction to alchohol (which Sherlock confirmed after one glance at her watch), and her initial abrasiveness, however, she had mostly obliterated whatever natural visual attributes she had originally possessed.

Sherlock's face became impassive, though inwardly he frowned for an entirely different reason. He couldn't, in all conscience's sake, leave her out the rain, given that the area would be drenched within the next thirty minutes. Besides which John would never forgive him.

"Here." Sherlock abruptly stuck a hand in her face.

Harriet tried to swat at it. "Go 'way."

"John would never forgive me if I did," he replied truthfully.

Her head jerked up. "You know... John?"

"And you know me, though I doubt you'll remember given your state at the moment. A storm's coming and our flat has a roof right now, so unless you're going to stay out here in the open I'd suggest we run for it. It should only take ten minutes." He had already calculated all the necessary shortcuts.

She didn't respond, so Sherlock jerked her brusquely to her feet and left his hand on her arm to make sure she didn't fall over as he directed (all right, pulled) her in the general direction of 221B.

* * *

_To be continued...  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_Warning: contains mention of abuse._

* * *

Two days later, Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch in an oddly cat-like position when he heard footsteps on the stairs. A minute later John entered the room. He glanced at Sherlock oddly.

"Hello, John," Sherlock greeted him cheerfully, attempting to keep John's attention on him rather than the telltale marks of his sister's presence, such as the scuff on the right side of the doorframe. Harriet had slept on the couch the night before last, while Sherlock had actually slept in his bed for once (with the door locked; he still had no idea what to expect of _John_, and his sister was an unknown entity), but he wasn't sure John would like the idea that his sister had been in _their_ apartment, even if she had left the next morning.

John looked at Sherlock suspiciously. "Um, hi Sherlock." He glanced warily at the kitchen. Apparently he had taken Sherlock's unusual friendliness to mean that he had some experiment going in the other room, which John entered as Sherlock watched. He got up and walked into the kitchen as John, not seeing anything questionable, decided to check the fridge.

John opened the fridge and stared, then closed the door and glanced at Sherlock in surprise. "There's milk in here."

"I remembered that you were gone," Sherlock informed him.

John rolled his eyes. "I told you five times, every half hour just before I left. Apparently it worked."

Sherlock looked slightly taken aback at that, so John rolled his eyes again and walked back into the sitting room.

John was actually surprised at the lack of chaos in the flat. He had half expected to find the rooms partially burned and shot full of holes (since he had forgotten to take his pistol _with_ him when he left), but apparently Sherlock had been wrapped up in something.

"Did you have a case?" he asked, grabbing his bags from the landing and walking back in.

Sherlock shrugged and flopped onto the couch. "One. Ridiculously easy, even _Anderson_ should have been able to solve it."

John looked at him strangely for a moment, then, apparently deciding he wasn't going to get any more information, deposited his bags on the floor. "All right then."

Sherlock just smirked and settled back into the cushions.

After Harriet's hangover had worn off yesterday morning, Sherlock had calmly (and with great glee at her discomfiture) informed the elder Watson of her state the night before and consequent whereabouts, also informing her that her brother was absent at the moment. He had then taken the opportunity to defend his and John's relationship with each other – _now_ he knew why John had substituted 'friend' with 'colleague' that one time; it avoided uncomfortable situations like that. Sherlock had quickly clarified his position as 'friend', and after an awkward "Thank you" Harriet had left.

John vanished up the stairs with one of his bags, and left Sherlock gazing at the remaining ones with interest. It would only take a brief look at John's bags to see where he'd been – literally, since a ticket was hanging out of the side pocket. The lanky detective vaulted over the arm of the couch to pull out the slip of paper and glanced at the destination.

When John came back down the stairs a minute later, Sherlock was still sitting by his bags, staring at the ticket as if it held the solution to some sort of dastardly crime. John cleared his throat. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock started slightly, then glanced at him in curiosity. "You went to visit your sister."

"How did you – Well, yes. She wasn't there, though, I wasn't exactly expected, sort of a side-stop on the way home." As Sherlock stared at him John shifted uncomfortably and asked, "Can you move over?"

Sherlock glanced at the bags and realized he was blocking John's path to them. "Oh, go ahead." Sherlock stood and waved magnaminously toward John's belongings, earning himself another exhasperated eyeroll before John disappeared up the stairs.

Sherlock stood, frowning.

_Harriet doesn't live in London, but came here unexpectedly and changed her final destination at the last moment. Not the type to do things on a whim but did so anyway, hence she came to see John at the same time he tried to visit _her.

When John entered the room again, Sherlock was sprawled on the couch in his thinking position. John had barely had a chance to seat himself when, without even opening his eyes, his friend questioned, "Are you going to try again?"

John shook his head. "No, it was a ridiculous idea anyway. Probably shouldn't have tried it."

"Try anyway."

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Whatever the relationship between you and your sister, it's clearly one of avoidance rather than malice – her drinking and moral status add to the problem, but aren't the main point of estrangement given that you were willing to visit her without warning her so she would be able to cover it. There's another issue there."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"John?" Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at him.

John slowly sank down into his chair and stared at the wall for a moment. Finally, he spoke.

"From my field of work, medicine, I've learned that many people in a – 'gay' relationship were sexually abused by the same sex at some point before that."

Dead silence.

Heaving a sigh, John admitted, "I don't really like to think about it."

Sherlock was staring at him, and John kept his eyes fixed determinedly on the wall.

Sherlock broke the silence after a long moment. "Try to contact her." His voice was almost soft. "Just call, text, make contact of some sort."

Slowly, John nodded.

Moments later Sherlock's phone rang, and he glanced at it to see his brother's number. He glanced at John to see a challenging glare. _I won't if you won't_.

Sherlock pondered for a moment, then nodded to himself and answered the phone.

* * *

_*Author's note: Wow, that turned out a lot more intense than I expected. But this story is almost complete, the rift between the two respective sibling pairs is on the mend, and Sherlock finally answered the phone..._

_The idea that Harry Watson was abused, as well as the theory John states, are pure speculation on my part._

_Harriet Watson will be making another appearance in "The Brother Code."_


	4. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

Six months later, John and Sherlock exited the latest crime scene with smiles on their faces and muted chuckles that burst into full-out laughter as soon as they were out of earshot. John chuckled, "Really, Sherlock, you need to stop doing that. I don't know if Anderson will ever recover."

"He'll be fine," Sherlock replied dismissively, "it's not as if I haven't told him everything about his vacations before."

"All the way down to the name of the hotel they were in and their room number?"

"Mycroft owed me a favor."

They both chuckled as Sherlock hailed a cab.

"So," John asked, climbing in behind his friend, "what are your plans?"

"I have to meet with Mycroft," Sherlock replied dryly. "Apparently he wishes to see me." He glanced at John. "Why?"

Before John could answer, his phone rang. John quickly answered it.

"Yes, Harry, I'll be there in a few minutes. No, don't worry about it, last week worked out just fine..."

A small smile slowly crept across Sherlock's face and he turned to the window, smiling.

**The End**


End file.
